


dance in the dark

by Lizzen



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/pseuds/Lizzen
Summary: we all mourn in different ways; post s2





	

**Author's Note:**

> oops

When it’s dark and the wine has slowly warped her thinking, Five finds herself leaning heavily against Three because it’s the most sensible thing to do and he’s there. No harm in that. 

He adjusts to put his arm around her, squeezing her once before relaxing into the half embrace.

And there’s harm, there’s harm there. 

She’s thought about it, ever since she saw his face again after leaving him to Kierken and death. Ever since she saw his face peering over her when she woke up from captivity. Ever since she saw his face after Ryo’s blood bath. 

She’s thought about it a lot. 

Thought about what would happen if he—if he—

If she’s being honest, Five’s had her fill of bad thoughts since waking up from stasis in a den of thieves and murderers. It’s a madness, and she knows it. Complete and utter madness.

They all call her ‘kid’ despite everything, everything she’s done. 

They also call her ‘useful.’ Call her ‘friend.’ 

And, since EOS-7, there’s fewer of them, fewer friends. That’s why wine stains her lips and swirls in her belly. It’s an old vintage, Earth-based; probably costs a fortune. Something they “borrowed” from Truffault before parting ways.

She leans her cheek against Three’s shoulder and hums. A drinking song or a dirge, she wonders; maybe both. There’s more wine in her mug but she cradles it instead of drinking more. 

“I have a terrible idea,” she says. 

“You know I love terrible ideas,” he replies. 

She breathes in and out, slowly because it’s really a terrible idea. 

And then, then she looks up at him and hopes she doesn’t have to say anything. Talking about it would make her lose her nerve completely. Talking about it would shine light on everything that’s wrong. She hopes her face just says it all. 

What she doesn’t know: in the dim light, she has an otherworldly, almost fairy look about her. Bewitching.

What she doesn’t know: Three’s had his fill of bad thoughts too. 

He stares at her, frozen; and it’s an exposed look. And she hopes, oh how she hopes, and her breath is stuck in her throat. 

After all, anything, anyone who would have shamed them is dead or lost.

So, when he opens his mouth and slowly tilts his head, her lips stop him. 

Lips press against lips; gently, gently. Sweet and sure. 

And she pulls away because this is not a seduction. This is a comfort, and this is gauging what is real, and what is just, just a terrible idea. 

Her thoughts aren’t even allowed to form and crystalize, because his lips on hers again, open this time for a kiss that has real heat in it. Three’s always been impulsive but she’s gasps in her surprise, and then in her delight. 

It’s a little scratchy, kissing Three. Especially as their kisses get rough and she’s sliding her tongue along his lower lip. She’d mind in other circumstances, but now it’s just a data point. Like his hand gripping her hip. Like the little sound he makes when she clambers on top, straddling him like some wanton thing. Like the ache in her body for this to go faster, for this to come to the inevitable sweaty conclusion of much needed relief. 

But wine’s made them sloppy and grief’s made them slow. 

What she doesn’t know: Marcus Boone’s record of getting a woman off is under 60 seconds. 

What she doesn’t know: Three wants to savor this because he’s damn sure this is a one-time thing and he’s going to make it good. 

He’s still healing, so she navigates carefully across his skin, holds him close but doesn’t dig in. Listens if his sighs are from pain. She’s not new, not new to this; but she’s new to him. New to pursuing pleasure with a man of his age, a man she knows; a man she’ll have to rely on after this is over. 

She thinks: we’ll blame it on circumstance and alcohol. 

She thinks: we’ll go back to the way they were—

She thinks: _no_ , no we won’t. 

So, she ravages his mouth next, resolutely willing her brain to stop thinking. Her fingers fumble for his belt and his hands join hers to help. When she pulls away, just for a breath, she notes the panic in his eyes and it fuels her to roll her hips against him till his eyes close and his jaw tightens. 

There’s the glimmer of an idea of sucking his dick but it vanishes when his hand reaches up her skirt and makes purchase. She’s quite wet, and he makes a little sighing noise as he touches her, his fingers hard against her heat. He lingers there, learns what makes her writhe in his arms. 

When Five comes, her head leans back. Three makes a line of kisses along her neck and his fingers fuck into her harder. She rides out the feeling, gasping for air and grasping his shoulders as she does. He’s relentless in everything he does, and she’s dizzy from being the point of his focus. Between kisses, she fights her clothes, removing her sweater and her shirt, tugs at her bra. He snakes a hand up to help her with that and they begin to laugh, failing again and again at undoing the clasp. Laughter is sweet for a moment, but it reminds them a little of who they are, and what they’re doing to each other. 

She pushes in for a hard, searing kiss and doesn’t care if he gasps in pain from her body pressed against his healing ribs. “Come on,” she says. “Please.”

There’s something desperate in his gaze; she’s seen this look before as tears had rolled down her face onto the freezing cold dirt. It’s more than meaningful; this is real, this is happening. 

With the touch of her hands and the careful look in her eye, adjustments are made and a position is negotiated. She breathes in and out, because she’s more than ready. 

He’s gentle at first, gentle at filling her up. She bears down on him because she wants more, she wants it faster, but he’s stronger than she is; he holds her firm and steady. And when he’s deep, finally so deep inside her, his eyelids flutter a little and when he opens his mouth, the faintest little sound comes out. It’s nice, she thinks. This is nice. 

See, when she thought about this, before—, _before_ , she thought it would be overwhelming, a pure thrill; but this, this is naked, open. Unexpectedly simple. 

And it’s exactly what she needs. 

A smile lights up her face and she lets go, lets the moment wash over her. Five moves, riding him with a loose rhythm. His hands hold her tightly in place and he thrusts up and in. She groans out her desire, not caring what he thinks of her now. Not caring what anyone would think. 

What she doesn’t know: when he thought about this before, he thought it would be more complicated than this. 

What she doesn’t know: he’s too lost inside of her to hate himself now.

He comes, wet and sudden, and she rolls with him to her side, feeling his thrusts weaken against her. The sounds he makes are incredible, better than she could have imagined. If she could laugh, a joyful little sound, she would, but his fingers are finding her clit and her sight goes blind for a moment. Perfect pressure against the slippery wetness inside of her, and she’s lost, so very lost in the sensation. Words sputter out of her until she keens and is spent.

It’s minutes, or maybe a lifetime, before he says: “that was terrible.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she replies. She impulsively runs her finger along his chest. He closes his eyes, shivers. 

He echoes, soft, soft: “No, it wasn’t.”

So, they lay there, breathing together in the dark. 

What they don’t know: the Android’s found Two and she’s alive.


End file.
